


Mr. Broken Heart

by heijihatsutori



Category: Super Junior
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Character-centric, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, M/M, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 15:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1433356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heijihatsutori/pseuds/heijihatsutori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a living legend in the town. They call him 'Mr. Broken Heart'. Even when he goes around breaking other people's hearts instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Broken Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyric from Matsushita Yuya's 'Mr. Broken Heart'.

 

 

 

 _I just say “No reason”_ _  
I love you “Four seasons”_

_  
Could not tell I am “Broken Heart”_

  


There is a living legend at the town.

They call him ‘Mr. Broken Heart’.

Even when he goes around breaking other people’s hearts instead.

 

Talk about irony.

 

*******

 

[Empty]

 

 

             He wakes up from his slumber to the screeching sound of the train halting to stop. Rubbing his still sleepy eyes he can hear movement from people around him, some ready to leave or just gets on board. He cracks one eye open, and the sky is so blue even from the blurred window. He smiles at that, grabbing the backpack and prepares to leave himself.

 

            The station screams out history from its old structure yet it still standing strong, to his amusement. The cool air greets him fresh and the people smiles warmly as they show him the directions to the nearest restaurant, he hardly eaten anything while on board, too busy sleeping, somehow.

 

            The sketched map brings him to a run-down restaurant run by an elderly couple not far from the station, to his relief. While the condition of the place is poor enough like the owner, the food is exceptionally good, great even. And no, it is not because he is indeed hungry either. As he pays for the food, which is surprisingly cheap, he makes a mental note to come again, the grateful smile of the cook when he compliments her for the food, and the look on the owner’s face, proud and happy etched in his mind as he walks on.

 

            The small town by the countryside is still free of pollution, and the green nature is still well preserved. Hills, forests with the old, big trees, the town are still rich with those. There is no sight of vehicles around, safe for some tractors for farm work, as people simply walk from one place to another, thus explaining the extremely fresh air he will never get enough of. He admits living at a city has its perks and yet he has never appreciated the Earth as much as he does now.

           

            After a long walk which somehow does not make him tired at all and some stop here and there to enjoy the scenery, he reaches the address on the old paper. Of course, he would not have made it if not of the help of some Good Samaritans that kindly shown him the way. Each of them sends him with a smile, but he cannot help but wonder why their eyes flicker with a hint of sadness as they do so.

 

            The house is situated at the suburb of the town, and it is hard to miss it considering it is the only house at the area by the hill, a big chinaberry tree by the front side, almost sheltering the house itself. There is nothing extraordinary about it, just a plain, wooden house. The more he looks at it, though, the house feels somewhat familiar, yet he cannot replace it. He knows this is the first time he sees it, he is sure of it. He takes another step towards the house, thinking about this overwhelmed feeling when he abruptly stop, as realization dawns on him.

 

            That he does not know what in the world is he doing here.

 

            He cannot remember anything. As if all his memories have been wipe away to dust. He has no idea what he had been doing before, why he is here, what prompts him to come, how he got the address, and heck, which his identity really is. He remembers waking up in the train, eating at the run-down restaurant, all those faces, all those places that he met, he knows them all, but nothing from beyond then. It was like he does not even exist at all in this world. The mere thought of it makes him feels sick at the gut.

           

            He even doubts his own sanity by now.

           

            The wind blows softly, toying around his hair. He feels himself frozen at the spot, unable to move, until instinctively, somehow, he lifts his head to the house once again, the open window at the second floor by the very right of the house, shadowed by the branches of the tree on top of it. There is a person leaning against the window, clad in nothing but black half-facing him, a cap covers the upper part of the pale white face. Slowly, the face turns facing him, and the lips curls into a small smile.

 

            Somehow, he can hear him, so clear despite the wind and the distance between them, as if they were close enough to whisper into the ears; the voice smooth and deep, rich even.

 

            “Welcome back.”

 

*******

 

[Mist]

 

            The sky is filled with stars and he cannot help but amazed by the view. Heck, even the whole scenery is breathtaking. The tall trees of green forest, the pebble pathway down the hill shone by the moonlight and he can almost figure out the neighborhood houses by the outskirts of the town, scattered in his view.

 

            He continues walking aimlessly, taking note on his surroundings. The forest is eerily quiet, there is no sound at all save for a bird or two flying above him. There are fogs, too, at some part of the forest, blocking the moonlight like an invisible pastel. Not like he really bothers with it though. It adds up the charm of the forest, he thinks. His steps come to halt when he heard sound of water, which is most probably a river. The idea excites him and he finds himself moving towards it.

 

            He can swear his jaw drops at the sight. It is a pond instead of a river, stretched out so wide and so far out of his reach, to the mountains that lay across of him. The shadows of the trees by the side and the star-studded sky all over the surface of the crystal sapphire blue water create a spectacular picture; it even stole his breath away. He is so awestruck and engrossed on the scenery that he does not hear him coming, until he feels a hand on his shoulder, breaking him out of his trance state.

 

            He turns around and is greeted with a small smile. It might be because of the close distance between them but in a split second he can see, rather clearly, too, a flash of emotion on the pair of black eyes which is always under the black cap. It reminds him of the kind people he met at the town before, the flicker of sadness in their eyes.

 

            He does not say anything about it.

 

            He does not know who he is, whether they know each other or not, if they are closes enough or something, for he still has no memory of anything. They barely speak of each other, even when they had been talking about almost everything in the world, he readily admits he knows nothing of himself and he does not ask either, thinking it is, after all a private matter. He does, though, enjoy the company, it feels like they are best friends for life, the way he is able to understand just by a mere look on the eyes, somehow, and he finds himself hoping the feeling is mutual, despite the lack of knowledge on each other’s identity.

 

            Even so, he is observant enough to know that there is something oddly wrong here.

 

            He notices how his watch stops functioning and there is no sign of clock in any part of the house. Heck, he does not even know how many days, weeks; months have passed since he arrived. He does not dare admitting that this place might not be real, this world is not real, everything might just be a figment of his imagination or dream, and he might have to wake up soon, because he does not want to.  

 

            But he also knows that if this is all his mind’s doing, he cannot make up a person in black and the skin in the stark contrast of white, he cannot make up something he had no knowledge about, he cannot make up such a mysterious person. It is beyond him, he knows.

 

            Still, if time is irrelevant in this place, what is?

           

            The moon is full tonight, so round and bright as he sits by the chinaberry tree in front of the house. He can feel the wind, softly dancing to a dead tune, quiet even. A rustle of leaves and he can feel a presence beside him, leaning against the back of the tree, yet he does not dare looking.

 

            He feels guilty, for some odd reason.

 

            And so they stay like that, in silence, each with their own thoughts. He is not much of a talker sometimes, and so as the other person, so it is fine. Everything is fine. At least that is what he wants to believe in. Along with that he himself is real, breathing, and alive.

 

            He does not realize that he has been saying his thoughts out loud when an ice-cold hand touches his, squeezes it for good measure.

 

            “I know.”

 

            He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, wishing he can stay, knowing he cannot.

 

            He exhales.

 

*******

 

[Moai]

 

            He sits at the corner, hugging both legs close to the chest, watching as the sun crawls across the bedroom. It is going to be dusk soon, but then the sun is yet to set. Suddenly it is dark all over again and the moonlight seeps in through the window. There is a knock on the door, a halo and he grabs his jacket, thinking they are going out again. The person, though, smiling softly, takes it and puts it back on the chair, telling they are going someplace near enough, just some room in the house.

 

            The house is surprisingly big in the inside, like a mansion even, considering that it looks pretty much a normal 2-storey house from the outside and they reach a room at the very end of the almost endless hallway. The door is white, and blends so well with the walls he almost gets tricked if not for the bronze knob. It is a waiting room, he hears him says. He reaches for the knob when a hand stop short on his shoulders, giving it a quick squeeze and gently pushes him towards the door.

 

            Slowly, he turns the knob, and a bright light blinds him almost immediately, forcing him to turns his face backwards, towards the person. He can feel his body moving in the door, or rather, been suck into the room. In the midst of it all, he still gets a good look on him and there it is again, the small smile, and the eyes, it is not just a flicker this time.

 

            Those are the eyes of the broken.

 

            He blinks once, twice, three times, and the door shuts on him. By the time he regains his senses, the room is gone, and he is at the forest, an opened tomb by his side, and the wide pond in front of him. The surroundings are still the same like when he was here before, except for an opened tomb, which he leans against by now, and apparently, he is not alone.

 

            Standing with both legs in the pond, the spot by the bank, the back facing him is a person who eerily looks like him. When the person turns, and smiles at him, he swears his heart momentarily stops. From the unruly black hair to the awkward long limbs, it feels like he is watching a spitting image of himself, alive, in front of him. Worse, he knows there is definitely no mirror. And it certainly does not help when the ‘other’ he starts to speak; telling him to come back, everybody is waiting, and please, wakes up.

 

            His brows furrows at that as the words echoes and doing a racket in his brain. He does not understand; he has been here for as long as he can remember, he does not know where to go back to, and he does not know anybody who will know him, save for the person who he calls his best friend now, and he is content enough with that.

 

            And of course, he is wide awake.

 

            Since when is he sleeping at the first place?

 

            “Since the beginning of it all, that is.”

 

            He turns around, and there he is, the person, leaning against the still opened tomb. And it is only then that he realized he has been walking towards the pond, one arm stretched out in front of him, unconsciously. Taken aback by the situation, he walk backwards a couple of steps, confusion colors his face.

 

            He can feel his whole body shaking, and his legs giving up on him, as he falls on his knees, a cold hand on the shoulder, and the person is sitting beside him. It took him a whole minute to calm himself down after the most dreaded ‘we need to talk’ sentence escaped the pale lips.

 

            And it does not even take a minute for his world to come crushing down on his feet, his heart breaking, his gut stricken, and his mind screaming, tears rolling down his cheeks and falls effortlessly on the ground.

 

            “This world is real to me, as my time has stopped moving, long time ago.”          

 

            Slowly, it echoes inside of him.

 

            “That person is your time, your heart, here to take you back.”

 

            A thin voice announces the end.

 

            “Tell me goodbye.”

           

*******

 

[Pavane]

 

            He wakes up to the soft howling of the wind seeping in from the small opening of the window. Somehow, his body feels surprisingly heavy, and his head hurts. There is a click on the door and a person comes into the room, wearing a white uniform that he can identify as a nurse and let out a gasp. Within a minute the room is brighter in light and men in white, who by now he knows as doctors are in and out the doors, checking his conditions from time to time.

 

            Apparently, there was an accident, and according to the doctor, he was in coma for years that it is a miracle he actually wakes up.

 

            The next day his room is crowded by 10+ guys and his family who cried openly on the sight of him. They keep on talking and crying at the same time that he cannot help but smile at the absurdity of it all. Everything is still somewhat blurry inside his mind and he can hardly move a muscle, but in between all those bright, tear-stricken faces, he swear he can see another person with eerily pale white face clad in black smiling softly at him.

 

            He blinks once, and the person is gone. Yet the image of the smile remains, etched and burned in his mind. He asks about him to the other members, when they come to visit him later, and is met with confusion in their eyes.

 

            “What are you talking about? There is no such person with us before.”

 

            He ends up been sedated after he screams out that there is a person like that, and he knows he exists, and no, he does not make him up, it is beyond him, and all the members are tricking him up by saying that he is imagining things, for he definitely knows that he does not.

 

            The next day the doctors start talking to him, like he is some crazy person or something, and it pissed him off when no one believes him. He decides to keep his mouth shut and pretends that they are right, because if not he might have to stay there longer, and he cannot afford that. He wants to get out as quickly as he can, he cannot bear to stay there any longer.

 

            When the day arrives, the members picked him up, and he stays content like that. He greets the fans, takes a rest, bonding up with the members, catching up with things, and spends time with his family. He looks normal enough that everybody thought that this time, he really has come back to them, when in reality, he is not. Eventually, schedule kicks in, and this goes on for years. As time goes, too, he is able to see the house sheltered by the chinaberry tree, the pond, the opened tomb, the waiting room, the moon, the town, and of course, the person before his eyes.

 

            And each time, he can hear the sound of glasses break, so loud and so clear. He will turn around and ask if Heebum break the cup again and the members will look at him, rolls the eyes for good measure and complaints that he should see some doctor or something. At most, it will end up with him being made fun of everyone, and he will laugh along, blocking the piercing sound. For somehow, for reason he can never understand, his chest will hurts. And a lone tear will roll down his face.

 

            He remembers everything.

 

            It hurts.

 

*******

 

[Returner]

           

            He remembers that the person once told him.

 

            “Meet me on the equinox; meet me halfway, when the sun is perched at its highest peak, in the middle of the day.”

 

            He laughs at that.

 

            “What are you talking about? That’s impossible. The sun is NOT perched at its highest point in the middle of the day during an equinox. That would be during the summer solstice.”

 

            The person just smiles.

 

            “That’s what my heart told me, when we walk in the dimming light.”

 

            He cocks an eyebrow.

 

            “Meet me on your best behavior, meet me at your worst, for there will be no stone unturned or bubble left to burst.”

 

            He lost the words by now as the person smiles.

 

            “But always understand that everything, everything ends.”

 

            They were broken, they both are.

 

            “Everything ends.”

 

*******

 

_You just say “No reason”_

_You say “I can’t listen”_

_  
I watched enough words_

 

 

There is a living legend at the town.

They call him ‘Mr. Broken Heart’.

Even when he does not have one to call his own to begin with.

 

Talk about irony.

  
  
  



End file.
